


we work like broken machines

by sebbykurt



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, Rickyl, ayyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbykurt/pseuds/sebbykurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, with credit to ImagineYourOTP for providing inspiration!  </p><p>1) Daryl slips and Rick is there to catch him<br/>2) Unnecessary jealousy, necessary flirting<br/>3) Michonne finds a bottle of chocolate syrup<br/>4) Hershel notices something kind of beautiful<br/>5) Daryl finds a dog<br/>6) Carl is gone and Rick doesn't know if he can do it anymore<br/>7) Bottles upon bottles upon bottles of beer<br/>8) Carol can't help but laugh when Rick finally confronts her about it<br/>9) Judith<br/>10) There's a proposal<br/>11) Everything is burning<br/>12) Daryl just wants Rick to be happy<br/>13) A vending machine<br/>14) Laughter lines<br/>15) There's a difference between best friends and boyfriends, dad<br/>16) Michonne is sick of the way they flit around each other<br/>17) Three words nobody ever wanted to hear<br/>18) Three words Daryl is happy to say back, this time<br/>19) A run goes wrong and finding each other is like coming home<br/>20) We're a family, like it or not</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. slipping all over you

“You just weren’t holdin’ it right,” Daryl explains, tapping the tip of one of his arrows while Rick follows behind.  “’Sides, not everyone can fight with a crossbo—“

His words are cut short as his feet lose purchase on a solid sheet of ice.

(Rick swears he falls with a very non-manly squeal, but Daryl denies it with everything he has in him.)

Luckily for Daryl, Rick has the reflexes of a cat, and he catches the hunter with ease.  Rick holds Daryl around the waist, fighting back laughter as the other man struggles to get himself upright, only to slip once again on the slippery sheet of frozen water.

“God _Dammit_!”  He straightens himself with an embarrassed huff, tugging the strap of his crossbow tighter around his chest and pointedly ignoring the way Rick looks at him expectedly.  “God damn apocalypse and we still gotta worry about fucking _ice_.” 

Rick can’t help it, now.  The laughter that bubbles up inside of him is unavoidable.  Daryl is known for his irrationality, but this is just ridiculous.

Rick would feel a little bad if it weren’t for the fact that their positions are usually reversed.

“Don’t sweat it,” Rick tells him, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder and moving to face him, smiling despite the way Daryl glares at him.  “We all have our weaknesses.  Yours are sheets of ice, mine are blushing rednecks trying their best to fight their own embarrassment.”

Daryl opens his mouth to say something, probably offensive and rude and just downright _awful_ , but Rick cuts him off with the press of his lips. 

At first, Daryl is stiff, hands flailing pathetically at his sides while Rick grabs the collar of his jacket to tug him closer.  But with Rick’s tongue asking for entrance, Daryl can’t help himself.

He sighs openly against Rick’s tongue, curling his fingers around the taller man’s waist and very quickly taking control of the situation.  Sure, he may be harboring a not-so-hidden crush on the other man, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to ride bitch on Rick’s coat tails.  _Fuck that._

Daryl breaks away to catch his breath, torn between shoving Rick away and pulling him so close that they become the same person. 

But Rick is all smiles, calm and centered.

It pisses Daryl off.

So before Rick can lean in for another kiss, Daryl kicks him in the shin and turns to walk away, taking great pleasure in the undignified yelp that strangles itself unwillingly from the ex-sheriff’s throat.

“So, anyway, _crossbows_ …”


	2. you were so sweet and so bitter and so unwilling to let me love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm already quite amazed at the way this collection is being received, and only after one drabble! it's always refreshing to have such a lively fandom full of lovely people who enjoy the same things i do uwu ~

Rick isn’t stupid; he knows very well that Daryl and Carol are incredibly important to each other, but in a way that is entirely different from the way _Rick_ and Daryl are important to each other.  It’s ridiculous, to be jealous of the woman who counted on Daryl to save her only daughter and still trusted him even after he couldn’t do it.  If anything, they’re more like brother and sister, but the way Daryl touches her so carelessly still gets on Rick’s nerves, try as he might not to let it get to him.

He figures, in a fit of very juvenile wariness, that the only way to fix things is to mark is his territory.

It starts with little things – simple touches that go unnoticed by most of the group, quiet teasing that reminds Rick of his days as a teenager.  But his bitter feelings towards Carol don’t go away, even though he knows she would never try anything with the one person who obviously means so much to Rick.  They aren’t exactly open about their relationship, but it would be hard to miss, despite how avidly Daryl denies the group’s prying accusations.

Carol is a very lovely person, Rick knows this, but the way she touches Daryl’s bare arm isn’t lovely at all. 

Not even a little bit.

So he steps up his game.

Daryl is getting a bottle ready for Judith when Rick steps up behind him, wrapping firm arms around the shorter man’s tight torso.  Before Daryl can get the leverage to shake him off, Rick nuzzles at the back of his neck, letting out a not-so-quiet sigh of content.

Of course, Rick is reamed out rather violently when they’re alone, but it’s worth it to remember the way Carol pointedly avoided Rick’s gaze the whole rest of the day.  Even if it means a night of sleeping in different cots, Rick is pleased, and even a little exhilarated.

Sure, Daryl had been a little angry, but his arguments had been more embarrassed than genuine.

Maybe this meant that the only remaining Dixon boy was starting to warm up a bit to the idea of physical affection in public places.

Rick stows this thought away for a later date.  He wants to show everyone that Daryl is his, not whip the other man into a frenzy.

Besides, if Carol ever tries anything, Rick can always _conveniently_ forget to close the door behind them on one of him and Daryl’s fairly frequent trips down to the boiler room.

_Yeah_ , he thinks.  _That’ll show her_.


	3. sweet like sugar

Michonne tells Carol she never meant anything by it – bringing the bottle of chocolate syrup immediately to Rick and telling him not to let it go to waste.  “He seems like the kind of guy who needs a little sweet in his life.”  She winks, though, leaving Carol and the other women confused as they watch Rick walk off with the bottle curled against his palm.

Rick tries his hardest not to smile.  If anyone knew about him and Daryl, it was definitely Michonne.

Daryl is flipping through an old comic book when Rick makes it back to their cell, although he tries his best to seem nonchalant about it when he realizes he’s no longer alone.  “Dumb cartoons,” he mumbles.  “Can’t believe Carl thought I’d care.”

The laughter that bubbles out of Rick’s mouth is contagious, and Daryl is grinning despite himself.  There’s a light dust of pinks painted across his cheeks.  “What’s with the chocolate sauce?”

“What do _you_ think?”

The redneck fixes Rick with narrow eyes. 

His answer comes in the form of Rick’s careful fingers working over the buttons of his shirt, pulling it off with ease and motioning for Daryl to do the same.

The pink across his cheeks turns dark red as he shakes his head in disbelief.  “Dammit Grimes…”

“Don’t act like you never wanted to try it.”  He pops the cap off of the small bottle and tips it back, closing his eyes as he relishes the thick sweetness that blooms across his tongue.  He moans loud and dirty, the sound echoing off the walls of their own empty ( _hopefully_ ) cellblock.

Daryl huffs impatiently as he fumbles with his own clothing, already working at the fly of his pants when Rick bends down to stop him.

“ _Slow_ ,” he whispers, dragging his lips across the line of Daryl’s jaw.  It’s torture and he knows it, but he wants this to be memorable and, well, _sweet_.

Frustrated, Daryl tries to pull Rick’s mouth to his, but the ex-sheriff shakes his head and pushes Daryl’s hands away, very slowly bracketing his legs around that deliciously lean torso that has kept him awake and aching too many nights to count.

“I ain’t playin’ around here, Friendly,” Daryl practically growls.  His threat is weak, hardly even audible as Daryl tips his head back and lets Rick nip small bruises down the column of his neck.  “Just… _ah_ …”

Rick hums as he pulls back and presses his thumb against the tip of the syrup bottle.  “Be _patient_.”

But Rick himself is so hard that it’s painful.  If he doesn’t start this soon, he’ll be coming in his shorts like an awkward teenager all over again.

Before Daryl can complain again, Rick tips the bottle and watches the sweet, sugary substance fall in chocolate-y lines across the aroused points of Daryl’s nipples.  They both moan, mouths watering as the reality of their situation finally sinks in.

_Rick is actually about to lick chocolate syrup off of Daryl’s naked body._

For now, Rick closes the bottle and places it at the bottom of the mattress.

Daryl’s pupils are blown wide with lust as he watches Rick duck his head down, tongue darting past his lips to lick at a stripe down the center of his lover’s chest.  A violent shiver races down the body beneath him, and Rick chuckles as he swallows the thick sugar.

“Shut up,” Daryl hisses, even as he threads his fingers through Rick’s hair and forces him back down.  “Or we’re never doin’ anything like this… _oh_ …again!”

Rick laughs again.  “Whatever you say, Dixon.”


	4. beauty in the woodwork

Hershel’s favorite time of day is twilight, when the sun is mostly gone and the sky is a pale slate of dull gray.  It reminds him of the time Before, when his girls were still little and they would run out into the yard after dinner, chasing each other as they squealed and screamed about mosquitos and the moon. 

“Look, daddy!” Maggie would call, pointing at her sister as Beth tried (and failed) to do a cartwheel.  “Look at what Beth can do!”

Hershel would laugh until his ribs were sore and there were tears in his eyes.  His wife would lean over to kiss him on the cheek and all would be well with the world.

These moments of beauty have long since passed, but there are still miniscule blips of time that shine bright against the darkness of this dying world.

Glenn’s proposal to his beautiful daughter.  Beth’s warm voice flowing like honey as she sings Judith to sleep.  Carol’s devotion to the children of the prison.  The way Carl’s face lights up whenever Michonne brings him another comic book.

And of course, there’s Rick and Daryl.

They work so fluidly that sometimes Hershel has to reminds himself that no, they aren’t the same person.  Their differences are in fact quite prominent, although they avoid them as they work like the sun and the moon around each other.

Hershel watches them tease each other with a secret sort of smile, pretending not to notice when Daryl suddenly grows self-conscience and looks over his shoulder to make sure they aren’t being watched.  He watches as Daryl grabs two helpings of whatever’s for dinner, grumbling about Rick’s stubbornness when it comes to saving their recourses.  “Dumb ass don’t worry about himself enough.”  And Hershel laughs, because even Glenn and Maggie aren’t so obviously in love with each other.

As a man of religion, the Hershel who lived in the Before would have gone pale at the mere mention of Rick and Daryl’s relationship, but he has learned quite a bit since the end of the world.

He knows now that love does not come in small, pre-packaged portions.  It is not simple.  It cannot be summed up with words as humble as “a man and a woman.”

They dance around each other, of course, and Hershel laughs at this, too.  Sometimes Carl will walk over to him and he’ll roll his eyes, grumbling about his stubborn father and the even worse Daryl Dixon.  Michonne and Carol joke about it late into the night, laughing quietly behind their hands.

With all that has happened lately, with the walkers clawing their way through the few remaining lights of the living, Hershel looks at Rick and Daryl with a thankful sort of fondness.

“I hope it lasts,” he sighs to himself, watching as the sun dips below the horizon.

Even though he knows the world is falling apart, he can’t help but believe that all is well here, in this place where Rick and Daryl are together as one.


	5. love it covered in blood and pain

“His name’s Killer, and he’s gonna help me chop all those lame-brains to bits.”  Daryl is kneeling beside a bloody German Shepard, scratching the spot behind his ears and smiling like a kid who’s just received his first ever puppy for Christmas.

Rick sighs, scrubbing a hand through his tangled curls.  Leave it to Daryl to find a dog in the middle of the damned _apocalypse_.  A living, breathing, un-eaten _dog_.  A dog that has obviously been through hell and back, if the blood clotting the fur around his muzzle is any indication.

But a dog is noisy.  Therefore, a dog is dangerous.  Therefore, Daryl cannot take the dog with him.

“Daryl—“

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Daryl grumbles, curling his arm around the dog’s neck.  “And I’ll pick ‘im over you if ya make me choose.” 

There’s a teasing note to his voice, of course, but Rick’s heart still stumbles over itself in a fit of outrageous jealousy.  “I’m better than the damn dog, Daryl.”

Shrugging, Daryl just runs his hands down the dog’s back.  “He’s probably killed more walkers than you have.”

Rick has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something completely ridiculous. Something like ‘ _you wanna choose the dog, Daryl?  Fine, choose the dog.  I hope you like sleeping alone.’_

Instead, Rick moves to kneel down beside the dog, slowly moving to thread his fingers through the thick tufts of fur.  In response, the overgrown pup noses at his cheek, tail wagging.  “His collar says Rex,” Rick says, ignoring the shit-eating grin Daryl is currently throwing his way.  “We can’t just give ‘im a new name.  Might confuse the poor mutt.”

“Nah, man, he’ll be fine.  Killer sounds better anyway.  Wanna take the collar off?”

With a heavy sigh, Rick reaches to unclasp the leather strap.  He’s whipped and he knows it, but it’s worth it to see the way Daryl smiles at the dog, and then at Rick as he tosses the old collar over his shoulder.

Rick thinks that maybe having a dog around won’t be such a bad idea.


	6. you weren't brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS. Reading this chapter is not mandatory to understand the rest of this "series," as every chapter is its own separate drabble. I encourage you to skip this drabble if you aren't comfortable.

Daryl remembers when he was five years old, stumbling after Merle as his older brother took off like a shot into the woods.  “Wait for me!” he cried, tears catching in the cracks on his lips and stinging to hell and back.  “Merle, _wait_!”

It took far too much tripping and shouting, until his knees were scraped up something awful and his voice was hardly audible, but eventually he caught up with the taller boy.

He was kneeling at the edge of a stream, his fingers caught in the current.  When Daryl called for him, there was no reply.  So Daryl simply sat himself down in the mud and watched his brother while his brother watched the water.

“Merle, what happened to mama?”  All he knows is that he woke up this morning and she wasn’t there, and daddy was shouting about God while he downed bottle after bottle of his alcohol. 

Merle stiffened.  “She’s dead, little brother.  Killed herself.”

That day, sitting by the river with the only person who meant anything to him anymore, Daryl broke down for the first time in his life.

Since then, he’s lost many things.  Merle was gone, Carol was probably dead, and now it’s just him and Rick.  Rick Grimes, who is currently sitting in an abandoned bathroom with a pistol pressed against his temple. 

Daryl feels like stone.  He feels stiff and awkward and disproportionate, like the pieces of his entire being have been torn apart and pressed back together in a quick attempt at making him seem whole again.  He remembers the way Merle lost himself after watching his mother swing from the rafters.  He was never the same again.

“Rick.”  Daryl says his name for no reason.  He shouldn’t waste his words on single syllables.  He only has so many left.

Carl died yesterday, with a bite on his shoulder that looked like the state of Georgia tilted on its side.  How fucking ironic.

His last words were directed towards Daryl.  “Take care of my dad.  You’re the only one left who can do it.”

Rick’s bullet put him out of his misery.

Daryl steps into the room.  “Carl never would have wanted this for ya’, Grimes.  _Stop_ it.”  _I can’t do this without you.  Please don’t do this.  Please._

Rick’s head tilts to the side and he’s so dirty that Daryl fees like crying.  When was the last time they had a nice hot shower?  What about a meal that didn’t come from a can?  When was the last time they leaned on each other without one of them being injured?

And Daryl has so many things to say, so many words that he’s been too afraid to form into a sentence.  Words like _I_ and _love_ and _you_.  The last time he ever uttered those words with complete seriousness was to his mother. He can’t go through that again.

So he swallows his pride.  “Rick, _please_.”

It’s in slow motion that Rick’s hand falls to his side.  It’s in slow motion that the gun clatters against the tiled floor.

It’s in slow motion that Daryl runs forward and wraps his arms around Rick’s slumped, quivering frame.

And it’s in slow motion that Rick finds himself again in Daryl’s heart.

“I love you,” Daryl whispers.  Again and again until his tongue feels sore.  “ _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_.”


	7. take is easy, take it slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some hints at slut shaming and drunken sex between two consenting men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps in shock* a WEDNESDAY update???? god bless snow days.

Rick pins Daryl against the wall with one hand while finishing the rest of his beer with the other.  He tosses the bottle to the side and they both laugh when it smashes against the floor, the sound of it ringing in their ears.

“Gonna ‘tract attention,” Daryl slurs, closing his eyes as Rick presses sloppy kisses against his cheek and jaw. 

Rick chuckles.  “Don’t matter.  Let ‘em watch.”

Michonne and Daryl had returned from a run with unexpected, impossible amounts of beer.  They had stumbled across an alcohol distributer that, amazingly, had avoided complete looting. 

It was exactly what they needed, especially after losing Carol.  (Daryl tries not to think about it anymore.)

With a loud, alcohol-induced groan, Daryl brings his mouth to Rick’s and kisses him with messy enthusiasm.  The sheriff’s deputy tastes like beer and, well, like _Rick_.  It’s addicting in the worst way.  Daryl makes absolutely certain to commit the taste to memory, fighting through the haze of his own mind to keep it secure.

“Fuck me,” Daryl whines.  He wiggles impatiently and drags his fingers down Rick’s body until he reaches the other man’s belt.  Apparently, alcohol turns Daryl Dixon into a bit of a slut.  Not that Rick is complaining, of course.  He’s always wanted Daryl to be a little more persistent, a little more responsive.  “ _Jesus Christ…fuck me_.”

Now that Rick thinks about it, he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

They’re standing in a hallway in the middle of the prison.  If they listen hard enough, they can still hear the happy shouts of their drunken friends and family. 

They’ll be heard, but neither of them is sober enough to care.

Fumbling around awkwardly (and stopping to kiss each other as often as possible), they eventually get each other free of their pants and boxers.  Daryl wraps his hand around Rick’s dick with enthusiasm.

“ _Shit_.”  Rick drops his head to the taller man’s forehead.  He struggles to keep himself upright.  Daryl’s hand can do _amazing_ things.

But Daryl stops before he can really get anywhere.  “We ain’t here to jerk each other off like fucking teenagers.”  He sounds angry as he grabs Rick’s hand and brings three fingers up to his lips.  “You’re gonna _fuck me_ , Grimes.”

Rick lets out a low, almost pained hiss when Daryl starts sucking on his fingers.

Apparently, he’s perfectly fine with the fact that neither of them have lube.  Rick wants to whisper horrible, dirty things.  He wants to tell Daryl how much he likes it, how much this turns him on.  But he’s too horny and too drunk to figure it out, so he keeps silent instead.

Cock bobbing eagerly against his stomach and staining his shirt with pre-cum, Daryl pulls off with a wet ‘pop’ and drags the other man’s hand down to his ass.  He makes sure to keep eye-contact as he winds his left leg around Rick’s hip.

“What’s taken’ ya so long?”

Rick slips all fingers in with a pathetic whine.  Daryl is so tight that it has to hurt him, but he mumbles breathlessly about how okay it is while nodding his head in reassurance.  “ _S’alright.  S’alright_.”

Without lube, Rick has to slick himself up with his own spit, but he doesn’t mind quite so much when Daryl’s eyes glass over as he watches him.  He wishes he was sober, because he knows he won’t be able to remember this with as much detail when he wakes up in the morning.

They pant into each other’s mouths as Rick slips inside.

It’s messy and wet and awkward, but neither of them complains.

And when they’re sitting boneless on the floor, kissing each other lazily, they don’t even mind all that much when Michonne comes stumbling around the corner, shouting at the others to come and see.


	8. we stumble over each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you all know, this is a fairly carol-happy chapter. personally, while i don't like caryl, i love carol as a singular character and find her bad ass-ery absolutely inspiring!!!

Rationally, Rick knows that he’s being completely…well, _stupid_ about the whole thing.

Daryl and Carol have been with each other through thick and thin.  They lean on each other’s shoulders when things get heavy and they share meals when things feel empty.  It’s friendship in its simplest form.  Innocent. 

But Rick still can’t separate this knowledge from the hot, churning flare of jealousy that rolls through his stomach every time Carol stands up on her tip-toes to kiss Daryl on the cheek or when Daryl slings his arm around her shoulders and ducks down to whisper something funny in her ear.

Why can’t Daryl act like that around _him_?

All of their interactions are private and quiet, kept a secret even from their original group members.  Outside, where others can see, their relationship is nothing more than professional.

Rick has brought it up to Daryl before, but the taller man usually just laughs before pulling Rick down for another kiss, and Rick will be damned if he wastes that precious time with words. 

And that in itself isn’t fair.

Rick shouldn’t have to savor the moments of Daryl’s attention.  He sure as hell shouldn’t have to look at sweet, gentle Carol with narrowed eyes and clenched fists. 

Weighing his options, he sees only one solution.

He needs to talk to Carol about it.

He waits until she’s alone, pinning damp laundry to their makeshift clothesline.  She catches sight of him over her shoulder and shoots him a smile.  “To what do I owe the honor, Mr. Grimes?”

Any other day, her good-natured humor would make him chuckle, but he’s not here for pleasantries.  He thinks of the way Daryl laughs when Carol runs around playing tag with the kids, and he rubs at his temples with renewed frustration. 

“What’s going on with you and Daryl?”

Obviously not expecting the question, Carol chokes on air and drops a shirt to the ground.  Their eyes meet and Rick expects anger, but all he gets is Carol’s light trill of laughter.

“Are you serious?”  She stands with her hand on her hip as she turns to face him fully.  Despite how serious she sounds, her lips are still crooked with amusement.  “And here I was thinking something went wrong.  You came walking out here with some real purpose.”

He has to take a deep breath to keep himself from shouting.  “Please just…answer the question, Carol.”

Her eyes grow soft.  He sounds defeated and she doesn’t like it.

She sighs.  “Daryl’s my best friend, I guess.  Nothing more, if that’s why you’re asking.  I just can’t look at him like that and besides, he never shuts up about how much he likes you.” 

Rick’s eyes widen and his jaw falls slack.

Carol watches and shakes her head with a roll of her eyes.  “I swear to God, you two boys act more like teenagers than _actual_ teenagers.  Rattling off about how jealous you two are—“

“Wait, who’s _Daryl_ jealous of?”

Carol shrugs her shoulders as she turns to snatch up another shirt.  “He doesn’t like the way you’re always laughin’ with Michonne.  I try to tell him that it’s just…”

But when she turns around, he’s already marching back towards the prison.

She laughs.  “ _Teenagers_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in general, i just want to thank all of you for the support. i was absolutely certain that this collection would get a very minimal response and that i would stop writing it, but the opposite is true and i can't thank you enough<33333
> 
> i hope you're all ready for tonight's premiere!!!!!!!!!!!! (i'm not hahhAHAHHhahaHHAHH)


	9. let me settle your aching bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favorite chapter so far uwu

Judith’s first birthday comes around a lot faster than anyone knows how to handle.

The day is spent quietly as everyone who was there originally remembers that it has not only been a year since the little girl’s birth, but a year since Lori’s death.  Although there is a general undertone of happiness (because, hey, they survived another year and it’s kind of a miracle), Rick and Carl spend their time with Judith in a fairly somber silence.  They giggle and coo at the little girl, but their happiness more or less ends there.

Rick wishes Daryl was around, but he hasn’t seen the other man since earlier this morning, when he was helping Beth fix a slightly bigger breakfast than usual.

Naturally, it makes sense that Daryl would want to avoid the sad way Rick and Carl flit around, but Rick had been expecting Daryl to at least come celebrate Judith’s birthday with them.  He’s the only other person, besides himself and Carl, that Rick wouldn’t mind having around all day.

“Maybe he just forgot,” Carl says, his voice practically a whisper as he offers Judith the makeshift doll Carol had given her as a present.  “Can’t blame him.  Apocalypse and all.”

Rick’s only response is a frustrated sigh. 

Sure, maybe Daryl forgot, but all everyone’s been _talking_ about lately is Judith’s birthday.  In fact, Rick had almost been certain he’d heard Daryl and Carl talking about a gift for the one-year-old.

If he’s being honest, Rick doesn’t really _know_ why he wants Daryl around so bad.

He’s already accepted the fact that their relationship is less brotherhood and more… _something else_.  And, well, maybe that’s the problem.  Maybe Daryl feels like the anniversary of Rick’s wife's death should be spent as far away from the ex-cop as possible.

This, of course, is the exact opposite of what Rick wants.

He wants to dwell on it some more—maybe even go find the other man—but Judith is currently laughing and tugging at his beard, and how is he supposed to think about anything else?

Xxx

Rick is in the middle of a frightfully confusing dream when Carl is shaking him awake.  “Dad!  Dad, hurry, come _on_!  Wake up!”

Pitching himself upright, Rick rolls onto his feet as fast as he can, heart pounding frantically against his ribcage. 

“W-what’s wrong?  Judith?”  But when he turns to make sure that his little girl is safe and asleep in her cradle, he chokes on the air in his lungs.  She isn’t there.  “Carl, what—“

“Just come with me, dad, come on…”

Still confused, the only choice he has is to follow Carl blindly out of the cell and into the prison block.  Carl grabs his hand and all of a sudden they’re jogging with an urgency that makes Rick feel sick.

_What else?  What else could have gone wrong?  And on today of all days…_

Carl skids to a halt just outside of the last cell.  Rick tries to push past him, but Carl shakes his head.  “Close your eyes.”

Rick blinks at him.  “ _What_?”

Carl’s face breaks out into the first genuine smile Rick’s seen all day.  “Just trust me, dad.  Close your eyes.”

What else can he do?  His kid just _smiled_ for Christ’s sake.

He closes his eyes.

With Carl’s hand still wrapped around his own, Rick lets himself be brought into the open cell.  He can feel the air around him shift from vast and open to tight and closed.  He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“Open your eyes, Grimes.” _Daryl_.

Eyes flying open, Rick stumbles backwards in surprise.

Candles light up the dark corners of the cell, and balloons (where does one even _find_ balloons these days, let alone _helium_?) are brushing in bundles against the ceiling.  Judith, smiling and clapping, is giggling at her father from Daryl’s arms.  A small party hat is wrapped loosely around her head.  Rick doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he sees a similar hat sitting on Daryl’s head, too.

Carl’s grin is so wide that Rick can’t do anything but return it.  “Like it?  It was all Daryl’s idea.  He hit up an old party store and everything.”

Daryl ducks his head.  “Now, Michonne helped too…”

“I can’t believe it,” Rick gushes, bringing his hand over his eyes to hide the tears that burn at his retinas.  Here he was thinking Daryl didn’t care, when in fact he cared almost more than anyone else.

“Jesus, Daryl, I…how can I even thank you?”  He chokes back tears as Carl walks over to the bunk, where a small cake (probably stale, but who the fuck _cares_ ) is sitting on the pillow. 

Daryl shoots Rick a slightly bashful smile, and Rick wishes he could take a picture of it and pin it to his wall, so that he’d never forget it.  “Just enjoy yourself, man.  That’s all ya gotta do.”

And Rick will.

But first, he closes the distance between them and wraps both Daryl and Judith up in a giant, squeezing hug.  Carl joins in too.

Ever since losing Lori, Rick was convinced he’d never feel the sense of family again.  But when Daryl wraps his free arm around Rick’s shoulders and squeezes him back, he knows he was wrong.

He never lost it in the first place.


	10. we're goin' to the chapel and we're gonna get married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess this is more of a one-shot than a drabble?? It's slightly over 1k. 
> 
> This chapter was the hardest to write, because I knew I wanted it in Daryl's pov but...Daryl proposing??? HAH. I did the best I could, and here's hoping the characterization isn't insanely off target. If it's riddled with romantic cliches then you'll have to accept my apologies.
> 
> *sweats nervously*

Daryl sat awake all night, tossing and turning over the dumbest questions.  Should he get down on one knee?  Should he try to find a ring?  How does he broach the subject of Lori?  Does he ask Rick to take the old ring off or does he let it go until Rick takes care of it himself?  Will Rick care that their marriage won’t be official?  _Will he just laugh in Daryl’s face?_

Needless to say, Daryl ends up tearing his pillow apart in a fit of quite irrational, frustrated anger. 

Daryl Dixon isn’t a pussy and he knows it, but this whole thing is making him _feel_ like one. 

_Marriage?_   Merle would have slapped him across the face while laughing his ass off.  His father would have beaten him senseless.

His mother…

She probably would have cried tears of joy.  It wouldn’t have mattered to her that Rick was another man or that their union wasn’t official.  She would have been _happy_ for him.

And Daryl clings to that.

He almost goes to Glenn for help, seeing as how he and Maggie are already ‘engaged,’ but he doesn’t want help from someone who’s a thousand times more romantic than he is.  As irritating as it is, he wants this proposal to be entirely his _own_.

No outside influence.  No kissing under fairy lights with piano music playing in the background.

(The image makes him laugh.)

He and Rick have been…er, _together_ for quite some time, but it wasn’t until recently, when Carol caught them kissing in one of the guard towers, that their relationship became public.  It was relieving just as much as it was embarrassing.

Daryl settles on forgetting the ring entirely.  Sure, he could always chop the finger off of some walker, but he doesn’t like the idea of giving Rick a ring that he didn’t get to choose carefully.  Besides, he doubts he’ll find any engaged or married male walkers with carefully designed, gender neutral wedding bands. 

So yeah, scratch that.

As for the whole Lori situation, Daryl isn’t selfish enough to think that Rick will even consider getting rid of the only part he has left of her.  Daryl couldn’t ask that of him, anyway.  Sure, Lori may have had her issues, but that doesn’t mean Daryl didn’t respect the hell out of her when she was still alive. 

He figures he’ll leave that part to Rick.  If the other man wants to talk about it, then Daryl will try his best to listen without feeling like he’s somehow not good enough to stand where Lori once stood.

Xxx

“Are you nervous?” 

Daryl is eating breakfast with Michonne when she asks him, smug smile tugging at her lips.  She’s the only one that Daryl’s told, and he’s starting to regret it.

“Not really,” he lies, picking at his bowl of dry cereal.  “Not a big deal.  If he says no, he says no.  Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.”

Michonne hums but doesn’t say anything more on the matter.  There is, however, a comforting look in her eye when she reaches out to squeeze his hand.  “He’ll say yes.  Trust me.”

Xxx

Daryl is a little surprised when Rick immediately agrees to go out on a run with him.  It’s been months since the other man has left the prison.

“As long as I’m with you, I’m fine,” he whispers into Daryl’s ear as he slips onto the back of Daryl’s bike.  Thankfully, he can’t see the way Daryl’s cheeks flush red from where he’s sitting.

With Rick’s arms wrapped around his waist and the road zipping by beneath his tires, Daryl feels slightly more at ease.  He lets his thoughts drift far from the idea of rejection and lets himself daydream about how nice it will be when Rick says yes and Daryl can fall asleep knowing that he has a _husband_.

He’s always dreamt about it, in the secrecy of his younger years.  He would fall asleep to dreams about a family that accepted him for who he was and who he loved. 

He thinks about his mother.  About how happy she’d be if she could see him now.  Making the absolute best out of an awful situation.  Finding something good in the world’s biggest pile of shit.

Daryl pulls his bike over to the side of the road.

A few weeks ago, when he and Glenn went out on a run, they stumbled across an old treehouse in the middle of the woods.  Surprisingly, it was uninhabited by any hide-aways and was still spotless with that Old World shine.

It was exactly what Daryl needed.

A spot untouched by the end of the world.  A place where he and Rick were more than the hunter and the sheriff.  They were just _Daryl and Rick._

“Sure we’re at the right spot?” Rick asks, looking around him with narrowed eyes.

Daryl snorts.  “Not really.”

This sets off a quick round of childish shoving that ends with Daryl’s ass hitting the bike and Rick sucking at the length of his neck.

“Dammit, Grimes…come _on_ …”

Laughter against his pulse point.  Fingers intertwined through his own.  _Happy_.

Crossbow slung over his shoulder, Daryl leads Rick through the small expanse of trees and shrubbery, keeping his voice low as he teases Rick about his farmer’s tan.

Rick keeps his mouth shut when they finally find the treehouse, although he casts Daryl an unsure glance when the redneck motions for him to work his way up the latter.  “We don’t have all day, old man.”

Some more playful shoving.  Daryl’s heart jumps in his throat.

When Daryl traverses the last of the latter’s rungs, he finds Rick with his head tipped back in awe, spinning around in slow circles as he takes in the old movie posters and dusty paperbacks. 

“Daryl what—“

Daryl shuts him up with a kiss, curling his fingers around the shorter man’s waist and pulling him close.  He wishes he could cut away the unavoidable space between them with a knife.  Give up on the rest of the world and stay pressed close until the whole thing ended for good.

“I want you to marry me,” Daryl whispers, brushing his lips across Rick’s jaws.  “I know it ain’t real, considerin’ we don’t have a church or a pastor and all, and I can’t get you a ring, but I wanna call you my husband, Rick.”  He refuses to meet Rick’s gaze, heart thumping like a jack rabbit’s foot against his ribcage.

“I know it seems stupid and pointless and I understand if you don’t want to—“

“ _Hey_.”  Rick cuts him off with a sharp growl, grabbing Daryl’s chin until he can’t do anything but make eye-contact.  “It’s not stupid, and it sure as hell isn’t pointless.  And why would you ever think I _wouldn’t_ want to?  I love you, Daryl.  Of course I want to be your husband.”

His smile widens in time with Daryl’s eyes.

“You’re _serious_?  I mean you--”

This time, Rick shuts him up with a kiss.

They don’t need a church or a ring or a pastor. 

Daryl knows it’s corny as hell, and he’ll never say anything about it out loud, but the only thing he needs is Rick.  And the only thing Rick needs is Daryl.


	11. you lost it (and found it again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for slightly major character death (whoops)

Daryl is dodging a walker’s dull teeth when he catches sight of Rick and Carl out of the corner of his eye.  He makes a mental note as to their location, a sigh of relief parting his lips as he snags a grenade and tosses it down into the occupied compartment of the tank.

There is no joy in killing the driver.  It makes him feel so sick that he nearly doubles over from the force of it, but people – _his_ people – are dying around him and he doesn’t have the time for this, not anymore.

(Part of the problem is that everyone just assumes he’s good at this: at the killing and the destroying.  But he isn’t.  Because even though the Governor is a fucked up human being, he’s only doing what he thinks is necessary to survive.  Protecting the ones he loves and shooting up anything and everything that gets in the way.  The people he brought with him are more or less innocent, coerced into believing whatever lies he fed them to get them here in the first place.  They don’t deserve to die.  Nobody does.)

He shoulders his way through the gore and the flames until he’s nearly tripping over Beth’s feet.  They’re a mess of limbs and _where’s Maggie?_ ’s and Daryl doesn’t have the time to play hero right now.

He looks over Beth’s shoulder but Rick and Carl aren’t there anymore.  His stomach turns and his heart skips a beat.

“ _Daryl_ we gotta—“

“We gotta go, Beth,” he tells her, voice deflating more and more with every syllable.  “We gotta go.”

And he doesn’t want to.  Not without Rick and Carl.  But Beth is a mess beside him and he loves her, too, just not in the same way.

So they run.

Weeks will pass before he sees Rick again.

He loses Beth on the way, although God knows how hard he tried to save her.  He nearly got bitten in the process and the only thing that made him leave was Beth’s whisper of “ _find the others, Daryl, please._ ” 

Beth gets left behind but it’s Daryl’s heart that he can’t really save.  There’s nobody left but him and the walkers he has to kill on the way as he follows the tracks.  The same train tracks that quickly become his religion: the only thing that makes sense and gives him hope in this fucked up excuse for a planet.

Salvation comes in the form of a town like Woodbury and that scares him so bad that he nearly passes out, but suddenly Rick is there and he’s cupping Daryl’s jaw and smiling at him like he’s the fucking sun in the middle of a rainstorm.  “You made it,” he whispers.  “You’re here.”

And Carl is there, too, wrapping his arms around Daryl’s middle and nobody asks about Beth because there’s no time to between Tyrese and Carol and Judith. 

He’s crying and he knows it makes him look weak, but here he was thinking he lost his heart when, really, it’s been with these people the whole time.

Safe and sound in a world on fire.

 


	12. i'll be the one to build you up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sticks entirely to the events of s1-s3.

When Daryl was little, his mother sat him down and taught him all about love.  “It’s putting someone else’s happiness before your own,” she had explained, eyes darting around the room like they often did when she was nervous about another one of her husband’s outbursts. 

Even then, Daryl had known that she was only trying to justify the bruises and scrapes that he would later have to hide from his friends.  She had the same ones.

She had been right, though.

He won’t understand this until there’s a walker snapping at his neck and Rick Grimes is shooting the thing in the face, offering his hand to help the taller man up.  He thinks about his mother as he shoots an arrow through a geek’s skull, about love and happiness and all of that fairytale bullshit that people like him and Carol stopped believing in a long time ago.

And he thinks, as Rick’s bullet takes out another immediate threat, that he knows what she was talking about.

Rick could cause ten times the amount of damage his father did and Daryl _still_ wouldn’t hate him. 

It all starts with Lori’s death, although Daryl won’t lie to himself and say that there weren’t signs _before_.

It’s just that, all of a sudden, Rick is _whole_ in Daryl’s eyes.  Even though the other man is falling apart—is _losing his mind_ —Daryl looks at him and sees someone that might actually understand him.  (If he ever let someone _in_ , that is.)  Carol would see it too, he thinks, if she was actually here to see it.  But he can’t think about that, not right now.

Nothing ever comes out of it, though.

There are too many other things to worry about, and Daryl knows he isn’t the one Rick needs right now.  He needs Lori and even though it stings a little, Daryl understands and so he keeps his distance.

Weeks pass and suddenly he’s standing in some fucked up arena with his brother and people are telling Daryl to kill his _kin_ , god dammit. 

Daryl thinks inexplicably of Rick, tries his hardest not to feel _sad_ when he realizes that the other man probably abandoned him after getting Glenn and Maggie because it’s the fucking _apocalypse_ and _what else can you do?_

Merle shoves him down and the air is getting knocked out of his lungs and even though he doesn’t want to, he fights back.  Fights back until they’re both bloody and, okay, maybe Merle could have told Daryl his plan a little earlier.  Maybe they needed this.  Maybe they were only doing it to come off as convincing.

Maybe Daryl feels like he’s lost everything and it pisses him off.

But then Rick is _there_. 

Rick is there and Daryl would cry if he were a weaker man. 

Everything is just fine until _Merle_ becomes a problem and suddenly Daryl is forced to make one of the hardest decisions of his entire life.  Merle, who has been there since the beginning, or Rick and the others, who cared more than Merle ever did his whole life.

There is no in-between, because Rick hates Merle and Merle hates Rick and Daryl can’t put either of them through that.  So he goes with Merle.  He goes with Merle and it tears him apart.

Rick tries to pull him back.  He puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and it shakes Daryl to the core.  He gets it then, with the ex-cop’s fingers curling almost desperately around his shirt.  He _loves_ this man.  He loves him and it is the most selfish thing he has ever done.

If only things with Merle were easier.  If only there weren’t scars on his back and a self-centeredness to the older Dixon that makes nearly everything impossible. 

He needs Rick, and that’s why he goes back.

For Rick and Carol and Carl and Little Asskicker and Hershel and Glenn and Maggie and everyone else who ever smiled at him when he didn’t deserve it.

There is no warm welcome, although eventually Rick tugs him aside and hugs him until the breath pours out of his lungs.  It doesn’t matter that Merle is all alone in a darker cell than everyone else’s.  It doesn’t matter that the Governor isn’t ever going to give up. 

He has Rick, and even though it isn’t entirely _right_ , at least Rick is happy.

He wraps his arms around the other man’s torso and holds on with all his might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, i want to thank all of you for your wonderful support uwu i'll try to boost the updates up to twice a week until this work is finished!


	13. his kisses are sugar sweet on your tongue

It’s the first good thing they’ve stumbled across in _weeks_.

Rick just kind of _stands_ there, staring at it with a loose jaw and wide eyes.  He doesn’t even try to stop himself when Daryl shoves at his shoulder and snorts out a _“Fuck, Grimes, when was the last time you looked at **me** that way?”_

(Although he does make a mental note to bring that back up later because, honestly, all he _does_ anymore is stare at Daryl “that way.”)

“I think it’s a mirage,” Rick states dumbly, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Can’t possibly be real.”

The look on Daryl’s face is both murderous and comical.

It’s obvious that he’s starting to grow a little impatient, but this is kind of shocking and Rick doesn’t know how to go about handling it.

What are the chances of finding a _full_ vending machine these days?  So slim, probably, that Rick can’t even comprehend it.  The numbers don’t add up.  By all means, this is a miracle sent straight from a God that he doesn’t know how to believe in anymore.

Daryl interrupts his thoughts with a heavy sigh.  “Well, if you ain’t gonna do it.”  Getting a good grip on his crossbow, he takes a large step back before pitching forward and ramming the weapon straight into the glass case.

Rick watches in awe as the glass skitters across the ground, making a sound like wind chimes against the tile. 

And then Daryl is shoving a candy bar at his chest and, really, Rick has never been so thankful for anything in his entire life. 

His mouth waters as he tears at the wrapper, throwing it carelessly to the ground and taking a larger bite than he ever would have taken in front of anyone but Daryl.  Caramel hits his tongue and he _moans_. 

Daryl is leaning against the broken machine, licking chocolate off of his fingers as he watches the other man with raised eyebrows.

“Got a problem?” Rick teases, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.  The candy is melting across his fingers, sticking to his skin in uncomfortable, messy blobs of sugar. 

Daryl’s boots crunch glass as he pushes off of the machine and takes a step closer.  His breath smells like chocolate and there are still two feet between them.  “Maybe I do.”

The eagerness with which Rick closes the space between them would be embarrassing if they weren’t busy surviving the apocalypse. 

Glass grounded to powder.  Sticky fingers scrambling for purchase against leather and denim.  The taste of chocolate and caramel and something that Rick momentarily forgets is peanut butter.  _It’s been so fucking long._

Daryl presses him back against the vending machine with a smile, printing the grin like a stamp against Rick’s mouth. 

“We should tell the others about this,” Rick pants, even as he tightens his fingers against Daryl’s shirt collar.  Even as he wraps his leg around the taller man’s waist.  “They’ll wanna know.”

Daryl just hums.  Kisses him even harder.

“We can tell ‘em later.  I’m too busy getting some _sugar.”_

“Oh my _god_ , did you _really_ just say that?”

They laugh into each other’s mouths and Rick feels like a teenager again, swept off his feet by the bad boy and his cheesy pick-up lines.  In reality, they’re both somewhere close to forty and haven’t slept in twelve hours.  They’re exhausted and it’s making them stupid.

But they don’t mind.

Not one bit.


	14. changes on our hands and on our faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my inspiration for this drabble and the title itself comes from Laughter Lines by Bastille, a song that i suggest you check out immediately if you haven't already!

Age is a curious thing during the apocalypse.  You blink and you’re a year older, although the calendars are covered in blood and mildew and no one bothers with scraping together a party or looking for presents.  Whatever.  It’s no big deal.

Rick’s skin is starting to wrinkle and he doesn’t really care.  He doesn’t know how long it’s been since his thirty-ninth birthday and he doesn’t care enough to try and figure it out.  Birthdays are just another reminder that things have changed. 

A reminder that they’re all going to die a lot sooner than they should have to.

So Rick doesn’t bother with it.

But sometimes, when he’s watching Carl and Michonne flip through dirty comic books, he lets himself think about it.  Carl was a kid when this all started, but it’s pretty obvious that he’s grown up in ways that surpass numeric value. 

Beth, Maggie, and Glenn should be too young to know so much about murder, but half the time, they’re the ones with blood on their hands. 

It’s bullshit.

It makes Rick so angry that a lump the size of a baseball forms in his throat and he has to excuse himself before people start to assume that he’s seeing Lori in the cracks of the walls again. 

Everyone he loves is far too fragile.  Even the strongest ones.  Even Michonne and Carol and Daryl and…

_Daryl_.

Rick tries not to think about it, he really does, but there’s no way to completely shake away the thoughts of impending doom that threaten to suffocate him every time Daryl goes out on a run.  He’s old enough and strong enough to take care of himself, but walkers have no knowledge of age or strength.  They attack when you least expect it.

Daryl kisses the worries away in the middle of the night, when everyone else is sleeping and Rick’s heart is attacking his ribcage with staccato drum beats of fear and anticipation.  “You ain’t gonna lose me,” he whispers, intertwining their fingers in a surge of unexpected tenderness.  “Not anytime soon.”

Realistically, Rick knows Daryl can’t be sure of anything.  He could be dead tomorrow.  He could die in his sleep, with his arm around Rick’s torso and his lips at Rick’s neck.  And for a split second he thinks he’ll lose it, thinks he’ll start crying then and there.

But then their lips meet again and Rick will trace his fingers across the laughter lines that have etched themselves like the traces of memories against Daryl’s skin. 

There are good things.

Good things here, with Daryl’s lips on his and Daryl’s happiness bleeding through his veins like ink through paper. 

Laughter lines.  Something that should be an impossibility in this world.

When it comes down to it, their survival has nothing to do with age or strength.

It has everything to do with their _will_ to live.

And if Daryl can stay alive, then so can Rick.

(And who knows, maybe he’ll laugh some more along the way.)


	15. secret boyfriends

Carl is busy laughing his ass off while Rick just stares at him in confusion. 

They were in the middle of weeding out their makeshift garden when Carl asked, _completely out of the blue_ , what his relationship was with Daryl Dixon. 

“What do you mean?” Rick had asked, busying himself with pulling out a particularly nasty patch of crabgrass.  “We’re b... _best friends_.”

Carl had then proceeded to laugh so hard that the walkers lining the fence began to show even more interest than usual.

“Somethin’ funny?” Rick asks, tossing a clump of roots to the side and narrowing his eyes at the boy. 

“Y- _you’re_ funny!” Carl giggles, wiping at his eyes with so much amusement that Rick is torn between smiling himself and keeping himself stern for everybody else’s sake.  It’s been weeks since Carl has been this happy.  This understandably _young_.

Rick huffs, hiding his smile behind his arm as he pretends to wipe the dirt from his face.  “Wanna tell me why?”

Taking a moment to compose himself, Carl shakes his head and rubs the mud off his fingers.  “Best friends dad, _really_?  Good one.  _Good_ one.”

Rick freezes.  “Uh…”

“You two are more obvious than Tyrese and his girlfriend, and they’re pretty public about it.  Like, _really_ public about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Carl sighs dramatically.  “There’s a difference between best friends and boyfriends, dad.  Everybody knows that.”

Swallowing hard, Rick shifts his gaze up to the main part of the prison, where Daryl and Carol are talking over lunch.  Daryl laughs and Rick’s heart smacks against his ribcage. 

He looks back down at Carl, who is smiling smugly. 

Rick smirks.  “Are you okay with it?”

“Totally.  And since I know you’re probably worrying about it, I know mom is okay with it too, wherever she is.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this happy.”

Rick has to bite his tongue to keep from crying.  He drops his hand to Carl’s head and ruffles his hair.  “You’re a good kid, Carl.  A good kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”


	16. don't deny it

“…all I’m sayin’ is that maybe we should take a different route.”

Michonne is trying to pay attention to what Daryl’s saying, she really is, but it’s hard to focus when all she can see is Rick skirting around the periphery of her vision, eyeing her up like she’s some sort of threat. 

She has a pretty good idea why, and it’s kind of annoying the shit out of her.

“Whatever you wanna do,” she sighs, cutting Daryl off and standing up with a not-so-subtle eye roll in Rick’s direction.  “In the meantime, you might want to let your secret boyfriend know that I’m not trying to make a move on his man.”

Daryl’s eyes go about as wide as the full moon on a cloudless night.  He nearly trips over the legs of a chair as he attempts to stand up, fumbling over his words as he tries to ask for some sort of explanation.

But she’s already walking out of the room, smiling despite herself.

Xxx

Her and Rick have grown quite close in the short time they’ve been together.  It makes her happy to have his trust, especially after he nearly kicked her out on her ass more times than she can count way back when.

Now he’s asking her to help take care of the animals on their pathetic attempt at a farm, and in the quiet moments where it’s just her and him, she usually has to bite her tongue not to excessively thank him for keeping her around. 

That doesn’t, however, mean that she doesn’t get fed up with the way Daryl is constantly checking up on them, pretending to joke around with Michonne while watching Rick from the corner of his eye. 

So she says something about it.  Tries to, anyway.

Daryl is on his way over to help with feeding the pigs when Michonne decides that it’s either now or never.

“Are you and Daryl both out of your damned _minds_?”

Rick doesn’t even look up from where he’s digging furiously at the earth.  It’s sad to think that he’s probably used to these kinds of questions, although in a completely serious context.

Michonne scoffs.  “I mean you both—“

“What’s goin’ on over here?”  And of course Daryl is hopping over the fence, shooting Michonne a smile that seems more frigid than sincere.  “Need any help?”

“Sure we do,” Rick says with a laugh, and Michonne’s about to ask what’s so funny when Daryl just falls to his knees beside the ex-sheriff and goes right to work.

She shakes her head.

Xxx

She’s helping Maggie with dinner when she can’t really keep it in anymore.  “Am I the only one Rick and Daryl get jealous of, or are they upset with every living, breathing creature that gives the other one the time of day?”

The older Greene sister stares at her with wide eyes for a moment before breaking out into genuine peals of laughter. 

Michonne never gets a real answer.

Xxx

“You think people wouldn’t bother with jealousy during the apocalypse.”

Rick doesn’t look up from where he’s sorting through a bucket of wires, even as Michonne takes the seat across from him. 

“I’m not going after Daryl, and you can let him know that I’m not going after you, either.”

The man looks up so fast that Michonne’s surprised he doesn’t snap his own neck.  “I don’t—“

“You two are blind as bats and it’s getting on my nerves.”

She leaves before Rick can start asking too many questions.

Xxx

Later on that night, if she just so happens to see Daryl kissing Rick up against a wall in their makeshift bathroom, she doesn’t say anything to anybody else. 

But it’s about damned time.


	17. he goes and he does not return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for major character death.
> 
> i'm very very sorry in advance *o*

Rick has had his fair share of impossible fantasies.  He’s dreamt of finding Lori waiting for him at the next stop, dreamt of Shane smiling down at him from his perch in some tree like he did when they were kids.  Hell, he’s even dreamt of getting to walk Judith down the aisle someday.

The worst fantasy, though, is the one where he grows old with Daryl.

The one where this whole Zombie Apocalypse bullshit blows over and everything goes back to the way it was, only Rick has Daryl and Judith and Carl and maybe even Michonne.  The one where he and Daryl live in the same house and sleep in the same bed and work together to make full-course meals.  The one where Daryl spends six hours building two identical rocking chairs that they won’t ever use until they’re in their late sixties, and then they’ll just sit out on their front porch and stare at the stars while they talk about Carl’s wife and Judith’s fiancé and Michonne’s bad dye job.

Rick has it all figured out, from the moment they’re free of fear to the moment they grow old together.

And now, _oh_ , Rick wants to laugh at himself.

He wants to tear the thoughts out of his skull, wants to eradicate every last ounce of hope that still scratches at his thoughts like a rat chewing at cable wires. 

Because Daryl is lying in Rick’s arms with a bite torn into his shoulder.  Because he will die from blood loss if the disease doesn’t get him first and there’s absolutely nothing Rick can do about it.

He had been so happy, too, to look up and see the love of his New Life standing in front of his cell, because Rick was usually the one making the impromptu visits and, _wow_ , it was nice to see that Daryl had a little romance in him after all.

It wasn’t until Rick quit seeing things through a rainbow filter that he realized Daryl’s visit had nothing to do with sweet kisses and sweaty sheets.

“I got bit,” he croaked, words so weak that Rick had to strain to hear him right, had to ask him to repeat himself.  “ _I got bit_.  Rick I…”

And he fell right there.  Right into Rick’s arms like it was some sick, twisted sort of fate.

“They were gonna kill me on the spot,” Daryl whispers now, his voice broken in places where it was once admirably strong.  “But Michonne convinced ‘em—“  He breaks off to cough, and Rick feels the rattling of his lungs deep in his own bones.  Feels what little life is left inside of Daryl Dixon press itself weakly against his body, searching for sanctuary.

Rick wishes he could give it.

“Shut up,” Rick whispers, because he’s never actually had to hold a dying person in his arms like this and _what is he supposed to do_?  “Daryl just…just shut up, _please_.”

The laughter that bubbles up from Daryl’s blood-clogged throat almost sounds genuine.  He intertwines his fingers through Rick’s.  “You gotta be the one to do it.  You gotta be the one to—“

“—Daryl—“

“You can’t let me turn into one of ‘em, alright?”  He turns as best he can in Rick’s arms, angling his head to make eye-contact.  “It’s gotta be you.  Promise me?  Promise me you won’t let me—“

Rick shuts him up with a kiss.

It tastes like metal.

Like metal and broken promises and everything good that Rick should never have let himself have when, deep down, he always knew something like this would happen.

Despite it all, Rick starts to tug at the gun strapped to Daryl’s waist, only to have the other man stop him with a weak grunt.  “No…gotta…keep it quiet.  Don’t wanna scare the kids.”

And, dammit, leave it to Daryl Dixon to give a shit about the kids when he’s about to die like no human being should ever have to.  Leave it to him to make Rick smile when he has no right to.  Leave it to Daryl.  Always leave it to Daryl.

So he grabs his knife and drags his thumb across the edge.  Watches the movements of his warped reflection in the dull blade.

“I love you, Rick.”

It’s the first time either of them have ever said it out loud.

They were too afraid and too sensible to go anywhere near those three words.  It killed Rick not to get to say them out loud, but he knew how dangerous it would be to fall so deep into something he couldn’t know for sure he’d have the time to drag himself out of.

Now…

Well, he’s already too god damned deep.

“Dammit, Daryl…”

He brings the point of the knife up to Daryl’s temple.

Thinks one last time of the life he dreamed up in his own god-awful imagination.

Presses the metal against flesh.

A bead of blood rolls down, down, down onto Daryl’s cheek.

Rick wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you too.”


	18. i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Terminus isn't an awful "sanctuary" full of probable cannibals and psychotic leaders.

The first time Rick gets to say it after the disaster at the prison, Daryl is sitting by his side while Rick wipes the blood off his face with a dirty rag.  Everything is quiet, although tense and slightly uncomfortable.

But Rick still smiles, because Daryl is _here_.  Daryl is pressed against his side and it takes everything Rick has in him not to reach down and intertwine their fingers. 

“I love you,” he whispers, stringing the rag through his fingers and biting his tongue to keep from crying.  “Jesus, I haven’t gotten to say that in a while—“

“Rick.”  Daryl is looking down at his hands.  His fingers are quivering and Rick hates that more than anything.  “I’m sorry.”

But Rick doesn’t want to hear it.  Because none of it was his fault. 

So he reaches over and grabs Daryl’s hand.

And that’s the end of it, at least for now.

Xxx

Terminus is a sanctuary that Rick never saw coming.  A place of pure, genuine safety.  Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, Bob.  Hugging and crying and laughing.  _Laughing_ , for Christ’s sake.  Rick thought he forgot how to do it.

The nights are still tough, though.  Daryl will wake up shouting Beth’s name and Rick will still see Lori and Shane standing in dark corners.  (Judith will sometimes be in Lori’s arms and Rick has to leave the room for some fresh air.) 

They don’t have sex for weeks.  Daryl is very slowly coming back into himself and Rick doesn’t want to rush it.  They spend time with Carl and Glenn playing cards, and sometimes Daryl will talk to Maggie about going out and looking for a new bike.

When Daryl smiles – _really_ smiles for the first time since finding each other again, Rick drags him back to their room and pins him up against the door with a kiss that feels like a bruise. 

Rick whispers his name like a prayer, pressing his fingers against the familiar planes of Daryl’s flesh. 

They end up on the bed and Daryl’s face is bright and grinning below him, alive in a way that surpasses his physical being. 

“I love you,” Rick tells him.  His presses his lips against Daryl’s forehead and tries not to choke on the words.  “I love you so fucking much, Daryl.”

Daryl’s heart stutters against his ribcage. 

“I love you too, Rick.”

(That night, Daryl does not dream of Beth and Rick does not see any ghosts in the dark.)


	19. together we could tame the tides

Rick sits out in front of the gates for seven and a half days straight.  His only sleep comes from his body’s refusal to stay awake any longer, and his only meals come in the form of Carol just about force feeding him whatever they had left over from dinner that night.

He paces the earth until his boots have embedded paths into the dirt.  Paths that only disappear with the rain, running downhill with the mud.

Carl doesn’t try to talk him away from it and so neither does anybody else.  Even Hershel keeps his distance.  It’s obvious that this is something Rick needs to do alone.

So he waits, mostly in solitude, for Daryl to come back from the run that he went on with Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, and Michonne. 

Seconds scratch by like hours.  Uncomfortable stretches of time that make Rick worry endlessly.

How could something have gone wrong?  The strongest people were out on that run, and none of them were supposed to separate.  And even if they lost someone on the way, shouldn’t at least _one_ of them have come back by now?

Rick doesn’t get it.

He can’t let himself comprehend.

So he stands in front of the gates and he listens to the familiar groan of walkers, fingers itching to open the doors and let Daryl drive past on his bike.  His whole _body_ itches to feel Daryl pressed safe and happy against him.

Seven and a half days and a thunderstorm later, Rick hears the familiar purr of an ancient engine.

Daryl’s bike crawls up the hill, followed by the group’s truck, and Rick swears to god he has never moved as fast in his life.

Carol runs down to help him open the gates but he ignores her entirely.  He barely even pays any attention to Carl when he comes jogging down from where he was feeding the pigs.  Hershel hobbles and Beth walks as fast as she can with Judith in her arms.

Rick is crying and he doesn’t even care.

Daryl moves so slowly that Rick shoots it all to hell and runs over to the bike, grabbing Daryl by the front of his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss that shoots sparks through his veins.  His bones vibrate with electricity and if things were different it might have felt like Daryl never even left in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl whispers, but his cheeks are still the color of a rose petal sunset and he’s looking around as if he’s afraid of what the others will think.  (They don’t because, well, maybe they weren’t as good at keeping their relationship a secret as they thought they were.

Rick had, after all, spent seven and a half days sitting out in the mud, getting eaten to death by mosquitos and swearing up and down to everyone who asked that he was just tired of losing people.)

And that wasn’t a lie, not really, but anybody with a pair of eyes could tell that Rick Grimes would not have lost himself nearly as much if Glenn or Sasha had been the ones to die. 

It was always Daryl.

It would always _be_ Daryl.

So while everyone hugs and cries and laughs, Rick pushes Daryl up against the fence and kisses the breath out of his lungs. 


	20. love you long after you're gone, gone, gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it folks! I hope you don't kill me :s
> 
> (Warning for major character death.)

Rick remembers a lot of things about the end of the world.  Mostly emotions (like fear, anger, sadness), but some memories are more prominent than others.

Carl getting shot, Lori’s death, the first time he ever held Judith, losing Andrea, Hershel, kissing Daryl up against a tree in the middle of the woods when he just couldn’t take it anymore.

_“Rick, what the hell—“_

_“Just shut up,” Rick hisses, shoving at the taller man’s shoulders until his back rubs the wrong way against hard bark.  Daryl winces and tries to push away, but Rick holds his ground.  “I’m sorry, I—“_

_“What’s **wrong** —“_

_Rick kisses him good and quiet._

Rick smiles at the memory as he traces the tips of his fingers along the smooth edges of Daryl’s gravestone. 

Things had been hard back then, and Rick would never ask to go back, but he had _Daryl_ and there were moments where things felt… _right_ , somehow.

_“How do you feel about Glenn and Maggie gettin’ engaged?”  Daryl is staring down at his boots, a cigarette caught between his teeth and a crease in his brow._

_Tipping his head to the side, Rick reaches down to tangle their fingers together.  “I think it’s pretty great, all things considered.  Although I wish they’d told us sooner.  Five months after the engagement isn’t exactly party-worthy.”_

_He tries to laugh but Daryl is suddenly very serious.  “I’m just sayin’…”_

_“Sayin’ **what** , Daryl?”_

_The other man shrugs, turning to look back at the prison.  “Maybe we should try it out.  The whole ‘ **husbands** ’ thing.”_

Who knew that a year later their prayers would find answers?  Who knew that he and Daryl would actually be able to get married, in a _real_ church, surrounded by what was left of their friends and family?

They even had a honeymoon.  In _Hawaii_.

And they had seventeen long years together.

_“Rick?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_It’s two thirty-five in the morning and Rick is half awake, caught with one foot in a nightmare._

_“I’m sick.”_

Rick curls his fingers hard around the stone.  A bouquet of lilies sits against Daryl’s name, probably left behind by either Carl or Michonne on one of their monthly visits. 

_Michonne holds his hand while they sit in the waiting room.  It’s amazing, to think that a world once so full of waste managed to put itself back together so efficiently.  Walls that were once covered in blood have been knocked over and replaced with white tile._

_It makes Rick feel sick to his stomach._

_“It’s gonna be okay,” Michonne tells him, squeezing his hand for good measure.  Her smile is still bright, despite how dark the world around them seems.  “And even if it’s not, you don’t have anything to worry about.  We’re a family Rick, like it or not.”_

Bending down, Rick traces his fingers over the careful indents of Daryl’s name.  They had been careful to pick the prettiest stone and would settle for nothing less than the finest craftsmanship.

(Daryl would have yelled at him over it, rambling on about how pointless the whole thing was, but Rick couldn’t find any way to justify giving Daryl anything but the absolute best.)

He takes a deep breath to steady himself.  Brushes his fingers over lily petals.  “I miss you, Daryl.”

_Rick, Daryl, Carl and Judith are all sitting on a ratty old picnic blanket while Michonne takes a lighter to the first firework._

_With a rather undignified squeal, she stumbles back and lands with a painful thump on the ground._

_They all end up laughing so hard that they nearly miss the first brilliant flash of color.  Red and blue, sparking across the sky in electric explosions._

_Carl gets up to light the next one, scolding Judith for being too young and inexperienced, and Daryl rests his head on Rick’s shoulder, an action that he rarely does in front of other people.  “I love you, Rick.”_

_Rick is so happy that a lump forms somewhere near his lungs, uncomfortable and heavy.  Bittersweet, somehow.  “I love you too, Daryl.”_

Rick bows his head and smiles, even as his fingers shake.  “Happy anniversary.”

(And in a moment of pure insanity, Rick thinks he can feel Daryl's fingers slip through his own, but the feeling is gone before he can turn to see if he's dreaming.)

(He isn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, where do I start?
> 
> First of all, thank you THANK YOU //THANK YOU.// The reaction to this work STILL manages to blow my mind. I started off thinking it would be a silly little side project, but it ended up morphing into the love of my life uwu I will never be able to thank any of you enough for stopping by and bothering to give this fic any of your time.
> 
> As to whether or not I'll be starting any new projects, I'm not sure yet, but you'll probably hear about it first over on my tumblr (darixxon.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to stop by to say hi, my tumblr is pretty much the most likely place to find me!
> 
> Again, thank you:')
> 
> Happy travels~


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